In Target I saw a woman
With a tiny grandchild
Pulling her along, a wagon.
We exchanged pleasantries
We each went on our ways
Me to checkout and she to leave.
Done I left and saw her then
Her granddaughter had wanted
To ride the escalators again.
Suddenly I remembered days
When the escalator's gentle lift and fall
Would fill my stomach with butterflies.
Is it gone or do our adult minds
Tune the sensation out
Along with all quotidian kind?
Strive to have beginner's mind
You'll see and feel the truth
That adults leave behind.
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